


Pink Rabbits

by TigerMoon



Category: Soul Eater
Genre: Canon - Manga, Declarations Of Love, Drunken Confessions, Hallucinations, M/M, Manga Spoilers, Post-Canon, Survivor Guilt, deathbed confessions
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2015-10-27
Updated: 2015-10-27
Packaged: 2018-04-28 10:52:41
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 603
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/5087884
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/TigerMoon/pseuds/TigerMoon
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Spirit is drunk. Shinigami is drunk with him. Asura is trapped on the moon, everything's over....</p>
<p>... so why are they crying?</p>
            </blockquote>





	Pink Rabbits

**Author's Note:**

  * For [DollyPop](https://archiveofourown.org/users/DollyPop/gifts).



> Originally posted to Tumblr- Dollypop challenged me to a meme, Shinigami/Spirit, things said while drunk, and.... er. It kiiiinda got away from me because I'm a horrible person. PLEASE FORGIVE ME, M'LADY.

“To our children~!”

A clink of glass on glass, a cheer, and they toss back another shot of whiskey before smashing the shot glasses to the ground. Spirit laughs, giddy, his head swirling- he is drunk, beyond drunk, high amidst the clouds and floating. Beside him, a dark-haired figure laughs even harder, his voice fluctuating between high and nasal and deep and throaty.

(Gods, that laughter makes his heart ache.)

 “Another~?” Shinigami asks, bright gold eyes flashing below shaggy black hair, and Spirit nods, whooping as the next shot (brandy? Applejack? Hell if he knows or cares) is poured before him. He reaches out- 

The world spins. There’s a distant voice, one he knows, but oh, he is not ready to answer it. Not just yet.

So instead he leans his head against his meister’s broad shoulder and closes his eyes, relishes the feel of souls intertwining. Of the massive god who has always held him in his huge hands, held him body and soul, looked upon him with all his flaws and seen someone worthy.

“I don’t want this to end,” Spirit murmurs, golden warmth passing in and through him- Shinigami has put an arm around him, is holding him close, his chin atop Spirit’s head and eyes the color of molten gold held firmly closed. There are tears in those eyes, slipping free; Spirit reaches up and kisses them away, one by one, until rough lips stop his own.

(The taste of salt and bitterness makes the world spin again, the voices come closer, and his heart rails against it, screaming  _go away, leave us alone_.)

“Spirit.” It’s the voice he has grown to love over the years that makes him pull back, the feel of those calloused hands stroking his cheeks (he too is crying, why is he crying?) and pushing his long red hair away. The voice of his meister, his best friend, his lover… so distant now, even though his touch is warm and comforting. “Don’t cry, love. Please don’t cry.”

“I’ll cry if I damn well  _want!_ ” And he can’t stop crying now- he remembers- all of it- the Lines of Sanzu are gone, transferred to Kid, Shinigami is dead, and Spirit is drunk and dreaming and this is all he has left-

“Spirit….” Shinigami manages a smile, kisses his lips, his forehead, the end of his nose in the way he used to hate and now misses so desperately. “My Spirit. Mourn if you have to….”

Those last words. The last words Shinigami had said to him, before the mission to the Moon, their limbs tangled together in the bedsheets and Spirit’s head resting atop the god’s chest, listening to the achingly slow beat of his heart. “Mourn if you have to,” he had said, his fingers caressing the deathscythe’s scalp in slow, languorous motions, “but never forget that I want you to live. My love will always go with you, even when I’m gone….”

Spirit chokes, gripping the ghostlike vision before him. “…so live for the both of us,” he sobs out, and the image of his lover wraps around him.

Not an image; liquid warmth soaks into him, a love so potent it soaks into his bones, into his very soul. A last fragment of his lover, left for him to embrace. His love, left to go with him, always.

Just as promised.

The imaginary shot of liquor still hovers before him. Spirit looks at it, raises it to the now-empty space around him. The waking world, a hangover, hell awaits him. But before he goes….

“To us.”

And he takes one last drink.


End file.
